


Stop Bath

by fakebodies



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, adam developing photos and getting emotional bc holy shit someone loves him, bro they are just cute!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24518137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakebodies/pseuds/fakebodies
Summary: "Adam asleep on the couch, Adam holding a pan of burnt food, Adam flipping through a magazine. Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam. His own work interspersed between blurry, inexperienced shots of him."This was inspired by a friend talking about how Lawrence would absolutely take pictures of Adam.
Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Stop Bath

_“Jesus, man, put that fucking thing down!”_

Adam is surprised by how much of his film holds pictures that aren’t _his_ these days. One of the things he’d discovered in their relatively short time together is that Lawrence _really_ likes taking pictures.

Scratch that, actually. Lawrence doesn’t like taking pictures, he just likes taking shitty candids of Adam, specifically. Like this one, that Adam’s clipping up to dry. He remembers it: early morning, bedhead, wearing nothing but his boxers and one of Lawrence’s dress shirts, hand hidden by the large sleeve as he futilely tries to hide his face. He’s smiling in it, and he remembers the way Lawrence had laughed, the sound warm and bright in their living room.

The next one, he doesn’t remember. He looks haggard, standing on the small balcony and smoking a cigarette, barefoot. Lawrence had taken it without the flash, apparently not wanting to disturb his thoughts. Adam can’t help but shake his head a little— he thinks he looks like a rat, but apparently Lawrence had seen something beautiful. Beautiful enough to capture forever.

Third, Adam struggling his way out of a pair of pants with one hand, flipping Lawrence the bird with the other. Lawrence’s own hand can be seen in-frame, middle finger up as well. He remembers saying something about _“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with these?”_ and getting a _“I swear, you have more trouble with jeans than me, and I’m the one with the prosthetic leg.”_ in return. He rolls his eyes as he clips the picture up.

More scenes from their shared life are hung up to dry. Adam in the shower, dick in hand— he’d called Lawrence a perv in the moment, but all mock-anger had been forgotten when Lawrence quickly joined him. Adam asleep on the couch, Adam holding a pan of burnt food, Adam flipping through a magazine. Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam. His own work interspersed between blurry, inexperienced shots of _him._ It makes his chest feel tight, seeing the proof of how much he means to Lawrence. Nothing’d really shook him until the last photo, though.

He’s asleep, the covers on the bed twisted around his waist, wearing Lawrence’s old college sweatshirt. His hair is a mess and he’s splayed out like a starfish. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:00 AM and Lawrence’s thumb is in the bottom of the shot from him supporting the lens. He clips the photo up before leaning back against his sink with suddenly-shaky arms. It’s easy to picture the scene: Lawrence dragging himself into the bedroom after a long shift, exhausted and probably feeling guilty about being late, only to see Adam there. Plain old Adam, still a little shit, just upgraded to the deluxe version— not just an asshole, but a _traumatized_ asshole. Lawrence, feeling tired and beat to shit by work, had seen him and been overcome by the need to take a picture. To immortalize Adam’s bedhead and the stolen sweatshirt and his drool on the pillow.

Adam laughs as he cries, head hanging in a rare moment of weakness. When he comes out of his darkroom, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of yet another too-large button up, Lawrence asks him what’s wrong. Adam just shakes his head and smiles weakly at the doctor, because, _god_ , he doesn’t know what the fuck to say. Lawrence gets it, though, turning the burner on the stove down so he doesn’t turn their dinner into charcoal and gathering Adam into a hug, whispering nothings into dark hair.

“I love your stupid fancy shirts. I’m stealing more.” Adam mutters into Lawrence’s chest, and the doctor just laughs and kisses the top of his head, because he _gets it_. He sees Adam bitch and moan, clawing his way through life even if being with Lawrence has softened some of his rough edges, sees him smoke too much and trade real breakfasts for stale coffee, all of it. Every goddamn thing, Lawrence sees it and still looks at him like he’s the greatest gift the world ever gave. All of Adam’s bullshit, and Lawrence still proves his love through the lens of a camera.

Later that night, Adam’s flash sounds in the bedroom. Lawrence looks up from his book, with untidy hair and tired eyes, wearing just an old t-shirt, the blankets over his lap hiding his pajama pants. Adam stands there, grinning behind the viewfinder as Lawrence breaks into a smile as well, beckoning him into bed. When he asks what that was for as Adam settles against his side, Adam has a simple answer, eloquent as always: “Because you’re fucking beautiful.”

Lawrence’s smile is a work of art, hearing that, and he responds by kissing Adam until he can’t breathe. The next day, Adam buys a cork board and hangs it up. Lawrence comes home late, to a boyfriend sound asleep on the couch and the new board already tacked full of pictures. Adam, over and over again, with Lawrence right in the center. They spend the next morning fucking in bed, enjoying the warmth of the covers and each other’s bodies, sunlight filtering through their curtains as Adam rides Lawrence.

Lawrence cracks an eye open after, at the distinctive click of a camera going off. Of course Adam is up already, back with his camera to take a picture of Lawrence’s flushed cheeks, messy hair and the drying spatters of Adam’s cum on his stomach. He looks _entirely_ debauched, and even if that one won’t go up on their new board, it will absolutely get stashed in Adam’s wallet. For now, Lawrence tugs Adam back into bed, covering him with kisses until he’s laughing and pushing at the doctor’s shoulder. Lawrence rests his head on Adam’s chest, in no rush to get up, and Adam holds the camera as high as he can to snap another picture.

When that shot gets clipped up to dry, Adam knows he’ll never take another one as perfect.


End file.
